


The Guest House

by rainydayrambling



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Death Threats, M/M, POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27212161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydayrambling/pseuds/rainydayrambling
Summary: Laurent has spent the last twelve weeks embroiled in the trial against his uncle, and he's exhausted. So when his deceased brother's old friend, Damianos, offers to let him stay in his guest house for a few days of peace and quiet, Laurent takes him up on the offer even though the two of them have never met. However, he isn't in Damen's guest house for long before he realizes he isn't there alone. Govart, an old crony of his uncle, has found him, and he has no intention of letting Laurent leave the house alive.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back~! This story has consumed the last week of my life, but while it's a lot darker than most of the fic I've written for this fandom, I really had a lot of fun writing it! This was born out of my growing love of "trapped in the house" style thriller/horror movies, and my realization that I could put Laurent and Damen into any genre at all and still have the time of my life, because I love them so much and they're such strong characters.
> 
> This piece was a real challenge for me, because I've never written anything like this, in or out of fandom. I imagine it will be kind of a weird read, and do heed the tags because while there is no on-page rape in this fic, there are canon-typical references to past child sexual assault, in addition to explicit threats of rape made throughout the story.
> 
> That said, if you do decide to read this, I really hope you enjoy the ride! Happy Halloween!

The driver dropped Laurent off at the front door of the guest house, rather than the main house, per Laurent's own request. It seemed that Damianos had requested his presence but left it up to his own discretion. Laurent's discretion preferred privacy, especially after the exhausting spectacle at the airport.

His uncle's trial had just ended, and the whole, extended affair had been highly publicized. The entire country had been following along for weeks, and despite his lawyers' best efforts, not being a minor, Laurent's face had been all over the news, both on television and online. Clips of his voice were recorded and played back on the radio. Videos of him walking in and out of the courtroom were shown on loop. Just in the time it had taken him to fly here, no more than two hours on a plane and a few minutes across two separate airports, Laurent had seen his own face staring back at him from a TV screen or a traveler's laptop no less than a dozen times.

That was why, when the driver dropped him off, Laurent thanked him swiftly, and then swept up to the door without a glance back. It was why Laurent had accepted Damianos's offer to stay in his guest house in the first place. He had never even met the man, and typically he would not have gone to stay with a complete stranger, even if it was in a separate building.

But he knew he would need to get away for a while once the trial ended, somewhere no one would think to look for him. And even though he had never met Damianos in person, Auguste had often talked of him, a friend from college -- one of the few who remained in touch with Auguste over the years, even as the family sank in public opinion due to their uncle's habits. Damianos had reached out, through the lawyers, to offer Laurent a place to stay for a few days after the trial finally ended, and the thought of a reprieve was so blissfully tempting that Laurent had accepted the offer almost before fully thinking it through.

Behind him, the driver drove off to wherever Damianos Akielos kept his hired workers, but that was all right. It was better, in fact. For the first time in twelve weeks, Laurent was perfectly, peacefully alone.

He opened the envelope which the driver had handed to him at the airport. Inside sat a small key, clearly meant for the front door. Laurent took a step back to look up at the house. It was modest, perhaps, for someone of the Akielos family, but it was certainly sizeable for a guest home. On the outside, it almost had the look of a two-floor cottage, sweet and almost fairytale-esque. It was the kind of place Auguste would have found charming, and thinking so reminded Laurent that Auguste had actually stayed here himself when he'd been visiting his old friend. The thought of Auguste standing in this very spot panged in Laurent's chest, but his brother, along with his parents, had been dead for more than two years by then, and the ache that thoughts of him always spawned no longer lasted as long, though it hurt just as much as it ever had.

Evergreen trees surrounded the guest house on all sides, but for the road by which Laurent and the driver had arrived. Presumably, further along the road, deeper into the trees, was the Akielos estate where Damianos lived with his own brother, and the brother's budding family. It had been so scandalous when Kastor stole Jokaste quite literally from underneath Damianos that even Laurent had heard about it, despite his still-fresh grief at the time. No doubt the house was large enough that they didn't need to see much of each other, if the size of the guest house was anything to go by.

Laurent slipped the key into the lock and stepped inside. The front door led into an open concept living space which consisted of the living room and kitchen both. Immediately, he felt his shoulders relax to be in such a large, open space all by himself. For so long, open spaces like this had meant needing to watch his back. And ever since the trial against his uncle had begun, it had been courtrooms and hotel rooms and conference rooms, one after the other, day after day. He hadn't been alone in a room except his hotel bathroom in twelve weeks, and to be alone now felt better than he ever would have or could have guessed.

For a long moment, he allowed himself just to stand there at the center of the room, enjoying the peace and quiet with the knowledge that his uncle was locked up hours and hours away from here, and that he had no idea where Laurent would have gone after everything was finally over. The court had finally ruled against him, in favor of Laurent and the other plaintiffs, and Laurent was free of him, for the first time in his life, for good.

Laurent thought he could smell the scent of pine even inside. It added further to the feeling that he was completely isolated. For a split second, that thought came accompanied by a dash of fear, as though being alone still meant that his uncle might find him, might surprise him by dropping by, stopping in, only for a chat or a dinner, he would say, before sliding in behind Laurent at the sink or gripping his knee or his wrist at the dinner table.

Laurent shook his head. His uncle wasn't here. He couldn't be here. He didn't know where Laurent was, and he was going to be locked up for the rest of his life. Still, Laurent went back to the front door and locked it before taking his bag and going to explore the rest of the house.

#

Laurent found the bedroom upstairs, and just down the hall, a bathroom with a lovely bathtub that he desperately wanted to get into immediately. The thought of soaking in the warm water with a book, maybe even a glass of wine, was immediately appealing. But for the moment, he simply dropped off his things on the bed and went to have a look around the rest of the house.

The second floor had a loft which looked out over the open concept downstairs. Most of the downstairs was apparent and visible right from the front door, but there was a hallway which led to a closet and another bathroom. The stairs which connected the two floors were a modern design, sleek white slats with empty space between them, so that they didn't appear to take up much space. The upstairs housed two bedrooms, of which Laurent had taken the largest. After poking his head into the second, he noted that there was nothing remarkable about it and shut the door again.

He was just about to go downstairs to check out the kitchen -- via the handful of text messages they had exchanged when Laurent accepted Damianos's offer to stay for a few days, Damianos had told him that he'd have the kitchen fully stocked -- when he heard a knock at the door.

Immediately, the sound set his shoulders to rising, putting him on edge. For the last twelve weeks, knocks on the door meant summons to yet another meeting in a conference room with his lawyers, or a bodyguard assigned to him for the duration of the trial checking in, or Nicaise sneaking out of his own room to seek Laurent for a bit of comforting banter. But all of that was over now. He didn't have to speak to any more lawyers, he was finished with bodyguards, and Nicaise was safe and well-cared for and only a text away should Laurent want to check in on him. So he headed back down the stairs and went to the door.

The man on the other side of the door was large. That was the first thing Laurent noticed. Even if he hadn't been limned in muscle, he would have been bulky, with those broad shoulders. The second thing Laurent noticed was that he was gorgeous, but he didn't pay too much attention to that. The man had bronzed skin and dark curls, a strangely sweet face which was arranged in a smile that seemed a little dopey to Laurent, but then again, most smiles did. Laurent believed that one should always lead with the truth, not with niceties. And right now the truth was that he wanted very much to enjoy being alone.

"Can I help you?" he asked, in the coldest tone of voice he could summon.

In retrospect, he should have recognized Damianos from his photos in all of the online articles those couple of years back, but when the man held out his hand to introduce himself, Laurent could only stare at him in surprise. Perhaps he should have guessed that he would come introduce himself in person, but when a strapping man had appeared at the doorway, Laurent had assumed he was some sort of laborer or something, come to offer him assistance or to bring in whatever groceries Damianos had ordered.

"You must be Laurent," Damianos said as Laurent shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. You look a lot like Auguste -- but different."

Laurent's eyes narrowed. No one could know this, of course, but it always rankled him to hear himself compared to Auguste, or to have his brother mentioned casually in conversation. To have them both happen at once immediately set him on edge, even if he was grateful to Damianos for the guest house.

"Thank you," Laurent said, but before Damianos could utter his you're welcome, he continued, "for the reminder of my dead brother during this difficult time."

Damianos blanched a little, though it was hard to tell with his skin tone. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories. I only meant -- Auguste and I were close, and I heard a lot about you through him. He talked about you often. I almost feel like I know you already."

In his chest, Laurent's recently misused heart gave a painful twinge. He had known, through Auguste, and by the offer of allowing Laurent to stay here, that Damianos must be kind-hearted. But this earnest desire to please, and to be perceived as helpful and good, was too much. After the months of courtrooms and police and staring down his uncle from across the room as he tried to charm his way out of justice -- well, perhaps Laurent hadn't fully recovered, hadn't re-learned how to sheath himself when weapons were no longer required.

"Of course," he said, even colder than before. "No doubt the fact that my face has been all over your TV for the past several weeks has nothing to do with this sense of familiarity."

The part of Laurent that was always searching for a crack to exploit quietly thrilled as Damen drew himself up a little straighter, his face betraying the fact that Laurent had struck a nerve. Whether it was the insult to his own memory of Auguste, the fact that his guest was being so openly rude to him, or the fact that he had, in fact, been closely following the trial, Laurent didn't know. But it was clear that something had gotten to him, and where he had previously gone pale, now color sprung to his cheeks.

Whatever it was, Laurent was not above taking advantage. He appreciated the use of the house, but he was unwilling to let his gratitude turn him into a doormat. The point of coming here in the first place was for solitude. If Damianos was going to treat him like a new house pet, then he would just as soon be at his own home. So he pressed on the wound.

"If you know me so well already," he said, "then surely you aren't surprised by my bite. You've been watching my uncle's trial, I presume. So you must know already that I'm little more than a poisonous snake, no? That's what all the cleverest news outlets are saying. A pretty face to lure in unsuspecting prey, and venomous fangs to send them to prison for the rest of their lives."

Something in Damianos's face glinted, but it was gone too quickly for Laurent to tell what it was. Malice maybe. Or mischief. Whatever it was, the man's next words lacked the warmth he'd had a moment before.

"I'm not surprised," he said. "To tell you the truth, I thought that forked tongue of yours might be even sharper."

Laurent felt his lips part, and he regarded Damianos closely for a moment, trying a little harder to read him now than he had bothered to before. Was that a joke? Was he trying to joke with Laurent right now? Or simply to push him further?

Finally, he said, "It's been a long day," a way to both answer to Damianos's assessment of his tongue, and to progress the conversation forward before he had to contend with any further surprises, beyond just the man's ability to parry. "Was there something I could help you with?"

Damianos seemed to recognize that they were slipping back into conventional pleasantries, and he adjusted his face to match. "I just wanted to drop by to make sure the place was satisfactory, and that you were settling in okay."

"It's adequate," Laurent said.

Damianos nodded. "Is there anything I can get for you?" He was more reserved now, after their little riposte, which Laurent knew he ought to count as a win in his favor, though part of him liked the idea of goading Damianos into another exchange.

"No," Laurent said. "I believe I have everything I need."

"Okay," Damianos said. "If you change your mind, there's a landline in the house which links up with the main estate. It's not much more than a glorified walkie-talkie. You'll need to use your own phone for any outgoing calls, but if you find you need anything, you can use that to call the main house."

With this information shared, Damianos turned to walk back the way he had come. As he did so, Laurent reminded himself that this wasn't just some man who had seen him on TV and offered him a place to stay. Painful reminders or not, he was an old friend of Auguste, and he deserved at least some courtesy, for that if nothing else.

"Damianos," Laurent said.

Damianos turned back to look at him, waiting quietly for whatever Laurent would say next, as though he were just as ready to take thanks as he was to take further undeserved barbs.

"Thank you for the use of your guest house," Laurent said. "I'll try not to be any trouble."

For a long moment, Damianos merely watched him from the distance of the few feet which now separated them. His face was unreadable when he said, "You can be all the trouble you like."

For some reason, and embarrassingly, Laurent felt color rise to his own cheeks.

"And it's Damen," Damianos said. "That's what my friends call me."

Before Laurent could say anything about not being friends, Damen turned and literally ran away, jogging back up the road toward the main estate. Despite himself, Laurent huffed out a little laugh and retreated back into the guest house, shutting, and locking, the door behind him.

#

A few hours later, after searching the guest house for any means of connecting to wi-fi and failing to find any, Laurent was finally unpacked, undressed, and nursing a glass of red wine in the bathtub as he had imagined himself earlier in the afternoon.

Laurent didn't drink often. Usually it was a risk he couldn't afford, and there was the matter of trauma to contend with. But very rarely, he appreciated a glass or two of wine, as long as he knew he was safe, with a locked door between himself and his uncle, or anyone else, for that matter. Now there were countless locked doors between himself and his uncle, he was in the middle of nowhere, where no one would be able to find him, and he had just enough service on his phone to text with Nicaise intermittently, to make sure that he remained safe and well.

Knowing all of that, he felt he deserved to relax, and he was never going to be safer than he was in that moment, so why not indulge a little bit?

And the wine Damianos -- Damen -- had provided was good. Nicer than Laurent would have guessed that someone would provide for a guest, especially one as prickly as Laurent. He was sinking lower and lower into the warm bath and already thinking that he might even get himself a second glass before bed when he heard a creak from somewhere else in the house.

The sound of it immediately put him on edge, raising chills down the back of his neck and along his arms, but he was accustomed to this. Countless times growing up, he'd heard just such a sound from outside his bedroom door before his uncle snuck inside. Ever since, any creak of a floorboard or groan of a faulty stair, and he was enveloped in his own fight or flight response. It happened so often that it was almost second nature to tell himself to ignore it and to force his body to relax once more.

Still, he couldn't help the fact that after hearing it -- despite knowing that it was just the house shifting -- he was on high alert, attuned to any sound which might follow. Which was why, when he heard a similar sound, apparently coming from a different direction, his entire body stilled, his blood going cold in his veins.

It was probably nothing, he told himself. There might have been some wind outside, and the house could simply be settling. It was a smaller home than those he was accustomed to, and of course, much smaller than the hotels where he had been staying recently. Not to mention the fact that he was out in the middle of nowhere, when he was typically accustomed to spending most of his time in big cities. It was no wonder he was picking up on the small sounds of the house, when there were no cars or people around making background noise.

Strangely the reminder of just how alone he was didn't do much to calm his nerves.

Laurent sat very still in the bath, so that even the water around him didn't ripple or make a sound. He listened hard, but he didn't hear anything else after that. But he could no longer lounge in the tub and feel comfortable, so he stood up, wrapped a towel around his hips, and pulled the plug at the bottom of the bathtub. The sound of the water draining would have obscured any other noises, and he tried not to feel unsettled by that fact.

He hated that the things he had been through left him so uncomfortable that even just a couple of innocent noises in an unfamiliar place were enough to set him so on edge. So much so that he peeked out of the bathroom into the hallway before he stepped out of the room, heading in the direction of the bedroom and the closet where he had put his things. He was beginning to think that another glass of wine would not be the brightest idea. In fact, he hadn't been lying to Damianos when he'd said that it had been a long day. Maybe he would be better off simply slipping into some boxer briefs and going to sleep.

He had left the light on in the bedroom out of an old childhood habit of keeping on most of the lights when he was home alone, and he was halfway through the well-lit room to the closet where he had hung up his things, when he stopped where he stood, some innate part of him recognizing, sensing, that he was not alone after all, even before he heard another creak of a floorboard.

Laurent spun, his heart already racing, some buried part of him utterly convinced that his uncle had somehow escaped after all, that he had found him here after everything.

It wasn't his uncle who stood facing him in the center of the room, but the sight of who it was in his place turned Laurent's blood to ice. Immediately, he felt his pulse speed up, his stomach turning to acid and his heart pounding hard in his chest. Fear gripped him so suddenly and so painfully that he thought for one blissful second that he might die of a heart attack before anything could happen.

With long years of practice behind him, he gathered all of this together into a ball in his chest, and he forced it down and out of his way. With effort, he released the tension in his jaw, instead balling it all into his fists at his sides.

"Govart," he said, and the man at the center of the room grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos give me dopamine every time they land in my inbox, so I would super appreciate them, but also I'm just really curious to hear what you think, since this is so new to me and also it strikes me as kind of weird. Either way, thanks again!


	2. Chapter 2

Govart stood at the center of the room with a knife in one hand, his other hand empty and open, ready to grab if Laurent should try to make a run for the door. He had a grin on his face, and Laurent knew precisely why. For the first time in his life, he had Laurent exactly where he wanted him: isolated, alone, trapped, and without even his uncle there to stand in the way. All that aside, Govart had every reason to despise Laurent. It was Laurent, after all, who was responsible for throwing his endless meal ticket into prison, Laurent's testimony which would keep him there for the rest of his life.

So Laurent didn't need to ask Govart what he was doing here. He knew. He didn't need to ask Govart why he had come. He knew that too.

What he needed to know, if he was to have any chance of getting out of this, was how Govart had known where to find him.

"I thought you left the country," Laurent said. He put every scrap of self control into holding his voice steady, and to his satisfaction, it didn't waver.

Govart sneered, or perhaps it was a smile, Laurent found it difficult to tell the difference on his face. "I did," he said. "But when I learned you'd be here all alone, well -- I couldn't pass that up, could I?"

"I suppose not," Laurent agreed. "And how did you learn that I would be here, specifically, on my own?"

If Govart meant to kill him, he should have no qualms with telling Laurent the truth. If he was considering keeping him alive, even for a little while, then he might hold back. Govart had lived on the periphery of Laurent's life for years. He may not have known Laurent well enough to know what he was capable of, but he did know him well enough not to take an easy victory fully for granted. Laurent needed to be underestimated as much as possible. It would have a direct correlation to how much of a chance he might really have in this situation.

But Govart merely watched him for a moment, a chilling thing, and then the smile slowly spread wider and he shook his head.

So it wasn't to be death then. Not at first, anyway. That was good. Laurent told himself it was good. It meant he had a chance of escape, even if Govart knew better than to trust him with the details.

A small, soft part of him, the part of him which was inclined toward panic, did not necessarily see this as good news. But Laurent tamped it down. He refused to crumble at the first sign of a threat -- especially from Govart. For a long moment, they simply watched one another, no doubt both cataloguing the situation, calculating the other's possible next moves. It occurred to Laurent that this scene would have gone more easily for Govart if he had run up directly behind Laurent and gotten a hold of him before Laurent realized he was there. The fact that he didn't must have meant something, and Laurent suspected he knew what it was.

He did a quick assessment of his assets. His body, of course, which was capable of more than Govart seemed to think, but which was nevertheless no match against his size and strength alone.

"Do you mean to kill me?" he asked, to buy himself more time.

He had the towel around his hips, which might be useful. He hadn't spent much time looking around the bedroom when he'd been in it earlier, and now he cursed himself for the oversight. He should have known better, even if he hadn't ever guessed that Govart would find him here. He should have known never to take his own safety for granted.

Govart shrugged in response to his question. "That depends on you, doesn't it?" he said.

Laurent highly doubted that, but he took Govart's meaning nonetheless. The chances of Govart leaving him alive at the end of whatever he had planned were slim to none. Not now that he had seen what Laurent went through to put his uncle away. If he would do that to his flesh and blood, what would he do to the man who had helped his uncle all those years? Govart wouldn't risk prison if he could help it, and he was smart enough to cover his tracks in coming here. He could murder Laurent and leave the body behind to be found later.

The final piece clicked into place. If Damianos hadn't given him away, if it wasn't Damianos's duplicity that had brought Govart here, then he was the one meant to take the fall.

In the meantime, it was Laurent's surrender that Govart wanted. He wanted Laurent to see himself outmatched, finally beaten in an arena where he would be unable to rely on the tools on which he had always counted to protect himself. Laurent finished his assessment of the room: a writing desk with a chair, a few pens in a cup, not even a lamp beside the bed, as there were instead lights mounted on the wall on either side of it. In short, nothing that would be of much use. Any real makeshift weapons were downstairs, in the kitchen, the living room. In order to reach them, Laurent would need to dash directly past Govart, his superior strength and size, and his knife.

It might be worth it. It was that or submit to whatever Govart wanted and hope for a better opportunity later -- one which, if Govart had any common sense at all, he would never allow to arise.

Laurent drew in a breath. He knew Govart well enough to know that nothing would throw him off once he had his sights set on something, so distracting him wasn't going to work. His only chance was to be quicker than Govart expected him to be, and the hope that Govart wouldn't expect him to make such a risky move.

But the longer he hesitated, the more likely it was that Govart would guess what he was up to. So as soon as his mind was made up, Laurent threw himself forward, making a mad dash to Govart's left side, heading straight for the door and the hallway that would lead downstairs.

He got further than he truly expected himself to. In fact, he might have made it all the way to the door if Govart hadn't managed to grab Laurent's towel with his free hand. Laurent crashed to the floor with one arm outstretched, his fingertips just brushing the hardwood flooring of the hallway outside. Fortunately for him, Govart's grip on the towel around Laurent's hips dragged him to the ground too.

Laurent got his knees underneath himself and crawled for the doorway, kicking out against Govart when he made to follow. But perhaps Laurent had underestimated Govart as well -- or at least his dedication to seeing this through, which was no doubt high now that he had revealed himself -- because despite the kick that Laurent landed square to his face, he didn't fall back or even slow down. Instead, he crawled after Laurent across the carpet, and while Laurent was quicker than Govart, he had no chance of escape if it came down only to length of limb.

In a split second, Laurent made the decision that he was committed to his bid to run now, so he flipped onto his back and kicked again with one leg, while at the same time using the other to push himself further back across the floor. It was a gamble, one which he hoped would propel Govart away from him and push himself out into the hallway so that he could regain his feet and make a run for the stairs. But it didn't work out that way.

He did direct another kick to Govart's face, smashing his jaw, but before he could pull away again, Govart wrapped his long fingers around Laurent's ankle and dragged him back along the floor toward him.

Laurent clenched his hands into fists, but before he could do anything with them, Govart leaned over him, pressing him down into the floor with the weight of his body. Doing so freed his own hands, which he used to gather Laurent's wrists together, at which point no amount of struggling on Laurent's part was going to free his hands, not unless Govart got distracted enough to loosen his grip, which didn't seem likely.

Govart managed to hold both of Laurent's hands in one of his own for long enough to grab a pair of handcuffs out of the back pocket of his jeans.

"I hoped I wouldn't need to use these," he said. He clicked them tightly into place.

Laurent snarled. "You thought I would be willing? You should have known better. I would never."

Govart laughed, though it was a humorless sound, and a second later Laurent felt the tip of his knife pressing into the soft flesh of Laurent's belly, not enough to wound, but just enough to draw a drop or two of blood. Despite himself, Laurent drew in a sharp breath.

"Willing? No," Govart said. "But I thought you might be smart enough to know not to put up a fight. Maybe this mind of yours isn't all people say it is, eh?" With the hand not currently holding a knife to Laurent's stomach, he tapped his fingers against Laurent's forehead. Laurent turned his face away, but otherwise, he was immobilized. With his hands cuffed together and Govart's weight holding him down, he couldn't do much more than squirm beneath him, and he wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Laurent stilled. It was true that fighting further, for now, would get him nowhere, and would likely land him a gut wound for his trouble.

Unfortunately, Govart seemed pleased with this, which almost made Laurent reconsider.

Govart got to his feet, once more tightly gripping Laurent's wrists where they were bound together. Somehow Laurent had managed to keep his towel on through all of this, though only just. He imagined it wasn't long for its position secured around his hips, and already it was slipping.

After a moment of what appeared to be indecision -- that was lucky, it meant that maybe Govart didn't have a strict plan that he was following -- Govart walked Laurent over to the bed.

That was less lucky.

Laurent grit his teeth as the full weight of what was happening finally sunk in. If he had been a different person, he might have cried then. But Laurent was Laurent, and he didn't think he had any tears left in him. Not for himself anyway.

Govart leered at him, making no move to shove him down onto the bed, though he had his knife now braced against Laurent's lower back, where a sharp enough jab would have sent it straight into his kidney. It sent ice down to his toes to imagine the kind of pain that would be.

Laurent drew a breath deep into his lungs, closed his eyes, and crawled up onto the bed. He kept his eyes closed for a long moment afterward, because he didn't want to see the look on Govart's face in response to Laurent's relative obedience. That he had climbed onto the bed with only the threat of violence to propel him, rather than being dragged there. Bile rose in him as he felt the roughened texture of Govart's hand against his throat, pushing him down onto his back.

With this done, Govart lifted Laurent's hands over his head, leaning down over him as he did so. He smelled like sweat and dirt and something else, something that reminded Laurent of laundry and his uncle, though he couldn't place it. Laurent didn't realize what he was doing until he heard a click and realized that one of his wrists was free.

His eyes shot open. For these few precious seconds, his hands were his own again, and Govart hadn't done anything to secure his feet or his legs. If he moved quickly enough, this might be his final chance at escape.

In one motion, Laurent yanked his hands down and his legs up, curling himself into a ball to protect his stomach at the same time that he reared his head up, smashing it into Govart's already injured jaw. Govart sputtered, knocked back, and Laurent rolled for the edge of the bed. He made it to the floor, but in his haste to get his feet back under him, Govart recovered enough to lunge, and in an instant, he had a fist full of Laurent's hair.

He used it to jerk Laurent's head up and back, and then to drag him back up onto the bed. Tears did spring to the corners of Laurent's eyes then, an entirely instinctive response to the sharp pain of his hair being pulled.

This time, it seemed, Govart had learned his lesson, and when he threw Laurent back down on his back on the bed, he sat astride his thighs so he wouldn't be able to use his legs again. He finished what he had been trying to do before, which was to refasten Laurent's wrists once more, this time around a rung in the headboard, so that he was effectively lashed to the bed.

Laurent's chest was heaving now, both from the effort of his escape attempts, and from the panic which was beginning to set in. The one positive takeaway was that Govart was winded as well, glaring down at Laurent for nearly getting away from him a second time. He had the knife pressed once more to the softest flesh of Laurent's belly.

"I think you're under the mistaken impression I won't use this," Govart said, twisting the knife in his hand so that its point bore down slightly into Laurent's skin.

Laurent raised his eyebrows. "Big words," he said.

Govart sneered and leaned down closer to him again. Laurent was distinctly aware of the fact that he was all but completely naked, only the towel draped loosely around him protecting any of his body from Govart's sight or touch. Govart, on the other hand, was wearing a pair of grungy jeans and a gray t-shirt. Laurent wondered where he had come from, how his contact had gotten in touch with him, and why. Why bring him here? What was the point of handing Laurent to this man like a bone to a dog?

"It's going to be a long night," Govart said, trailing the tip of the blade up from Laurent's stomach to his chest, and then the dip of his throat, until finally it came to rest just beneath his chin, forcing Laurent to tilt his head back, baring his throat, "if you keep talking."

He replaced the knife with his other hand, using it to hold Laurent's face still by gripping him just beneath the jaw. Then he brought the knife up higher, touching the tip of it to the fullest part of Laurent's lower lip, as though he would slip the blade into Laurent's mouth.

"Maybe I should take that pretty tongue of yours out now, save myself a headache."

Laurent swallowed down his rising panic. He wished he could close his eyes and check out for a moment, to just breathe and _ think _ . But he couldn't do that, and so he would just have to think anyway, with Govart's weight crushing his legs, his knife hovering just outside Laurent's mouth, and all their long history between them.

That was where the answer lay, it had to be. However Govart had come to be here, however he had known where Laurent would be, it had been tempting enough to have Laurent trapped here with him that he had put himself at risk to make it happen. This wasn't just a job to him. It was personal. There was something he, specifically, wanted. And Laurent had an idea of what that must be.

"You could," Laurent agreed. He kept his head very still and his voice even. He thought it might please Govart to hear that he was correct about something. "But you and I both know my tongue can be put to better use."

Govart grinned down at him and after a moment's pause, leaned back a little, removing the knife from Laurent's lip. Laurent tried not to allow his relief to show on his face.

"Good point," Govart allowed. "But since I don't want you thinking I really won't use this --" and then, in place of finishing his sentence, he drove the blade down into Laurent's left shoulder.

Laurent shouted, he couldn't help it, but the sound didn't seem to bother Govart. No reason why it should, really, since they were far enough away from the main house that no one would hear them even if Laurent screamed. Which he nearly did as Govart tore the knife from his shoulder. Laurent shuddered but grit his teeth against any further reaction. It was true that he hadn't really expected Govart to use the knife. Not for more than a threat to ensure that Laurent would do what he wanted.

Now, having been brutally disavowed of that naïve notion, a sense of helplessness was beginning to settle in.

The pain was murderous, unlike anything Laurent had ever felt before. He could feel blood spilling from the wound in time with his heartbeat, and the pain itself, which had begun sharp, was now solidifying into a throbbing ache. It was distracting, made it difficult to think through or around his awareness of it. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead and he could feel his body fighting him to pass out, but that Laurent could not allow. There was no telling what Govart would do to him if he lost consciousness, or whether he would ever wake up again.

No, whatever happened now, he would be awake and alive to see it. That was a promise he made to himself as he lay there with his own blood seeping into the mattress beneath him.

With this wound inflicted and his promise to use the knife kept, Govart turned his attention elsewhere. He didn't seem concerned with the blood, or the fact that Laurent was badly injured, which led further credence to the idea that he planned to kill Laurent before the night had ended. And Laurent had to admit, things were not looking good for him. In fact, things were looking so bad that he had to consider whether he might be better off changing tacks. If, perhaps, instead of trying to stay alive for as long as possible, he wouldn't be better off trying to set Govart off, to get him to snap and kill Laurent before he could do anything worse.

He looked up at Govart to find the larger man looking back down at him, practically gleeful in his triumph. Laurent felt something harden in his chest at the sight of that grin, so sure was Govart that he had won, that he had accomplished what Laurent's uncle, Govart's favorite employer, had never done. That he had Laurent where he wanted him, and that he would be trapped there until the moment his heart gave out.

Well, Laurent may have been handcuffed to a bed in an unfamiliar place, isolated in the middle of nowhere, and completely alone. He might have been stabbed in the shoulder, currently bleeding out, and without an article of clothing to his defense but for a single towel, but none of that meant he had to make this easy. Or pleasant.

He may not have been capable of making it through this ordeal alive and unharmed, but he could damn well make Govart work for whatever he got, and maybe he would get a chance or two to do some damage of his own. He would not wallow, and he would not give in. He refused to give Govart that satisfaction.

Laurent summoned his best  _ do your worst _ expression, sneering up at Govart like he was less than the mud in the tracks of Laurent's boots. Then he bucked his hips, knowing that his chances of throwing Govart off of him were limited, and knowing that it wouldn't matter even if he succeeded, because unlike Laurent, Govart wasn't tied down to anything, and he would simply get up again. But at least he would know then what he was in for. That Laurent wasn't going to submit to him or make this easy at any turn.

Govart was not unseated by this, but his expression did change from one of triumph to one of frustration. Laurent may have underestimated Govart in his willingness to do real damage, but Govart had underestimated Laurent's ability to stomach it.

With an angry growl, Govart reached to hold the now-bloody knife against Laurent's throat with one hand, while with the other he reached for the towel. Laurent felt his hand grip the fabric just before both of them -- gearing up for what they surely both knew was going to be a long, fretful, violent night -- startled. Coming from down the stairs and out of sight, there was a knock at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Laurent recovered from hearing the knock first. "An accomplice, I presume?" he asked, though with every moment that passed during which Govart appeared more and more confused, he had to admit that seemed unlikely. For the first time in a while, something akin to hope flared brightly in his chest, but Laurent tamped it down. At best, this was an opportunity, and he would squander it if he allowed petty emotions to overtake him.

Govart appeared to be thinking hard. Clearly the possibility of someone interrupting them had not occurred to him. So it wasn't someone he had invited. Laurent, despite his warning to himself of moments ago, couldn't help feeling somewhat relieved to know that he wasn't about to be held down and raped by at least two people. But if the person at the door wasn't here with Govart's design in mind, then why were they?

No one knew Laurent was here, and this wasn't even a real home, only a guest house which was not typically occupied. Most likely it was simply someone passing by, in need of something. Or a salesperson, or someone looking to register voters. Maybe Damianos had ordered him food out of a misguided attempt at hospitality. That seemed like something he might do. Whoever it was, they were no doubt inconsequential, and would probably not prove to be any help.

A few seconds later, Govart seemed to come to the same conclusion. Laurent, sticking to his vow not to make this any easier on Govart, didn't bother to help him along.

When the person at the door knocked again, however, he did say, "They may not go away without encouragement. Or should we invite them up?"

Govart scowled and, looking like there was little else in the world he would like to do less, he leaned up over Laurent once more, reaching for the handcuffs. Before he unclasped them, though, he pressed in close and spoke with his low, gravelly voice directly in Laurent's ear.

"Whoever it is," he said, "you make them go away. If you say anything about what's happening here, I'll put this," he drove the point of his knife into the tender, exposed flesh of Laurent's underarm, beneath the wound in his shoulder, "in places I promise you don't want it to go. And in case you get any noble ideas , I'll kill whoever that is down there too, but not before inviting them in to enjoy the sport. Got that, little prince?"

Govart pulled away to watch Laurent's face. Hearing those words in particular coming from his mouth made Laurent feel as though he were going to vomit, but he nodded. Somehow he didn't doubt Govart's creativity when it came to such activities.

With that settled, Govart unclasped Laurent's hands. His shoulder ached miserably as his arms were lowered back down to his sides, but that didn't stop Govart from grabbing him by the wounded arm to pull him up to his feet.

Trying to walk made Laurent dizzy, and whatever peace he had found from the wound in his stillness was lost to him now as Govart kept one hand on his arm, the other holding the knife once more to his lower back to keep him moving down the hall and to the stairs.

As they made their way slowly to the door, Laurent thought. He pored over every possible scenario that he could foresee coming from this interruption to Govart's plan. There had to be a way to use it to his advantage. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he trusted Govart to make good on his promises -- and what was more, he knew he would be capable of it.

It was clear from the shoulder wound he'd inflicted that he knew how to use that knife. He'd driven it into just the right place in Laurent's shoulder to cause him a maximum amount of pain with a minimum amount of serious damage. He clearly didn't want Laurent going into shock, and he knew how to hurt him just enough to keep him in line without that happening. Laurent had no doubt that he could do it again, and equally little doubt that he would quail at the thought of making good on his promise to get creative with it.

And he knew that Govart was in this now. Laurent knew him. That meant one of them had to die tonight, or they would each spend the rest of their lives going after one another. With dedication like that, Laurent knew Govart wouldn't hesitate to kill someone else -- not if it meant protecting himself.

Whoever was on the other side of that door, they would be no match for a trained killer, a brute like Govart. No, Laurent would not be able to rely on them for help. But that didn't mean he couldn't still twist this little interlude to his own purpose. He just had to get rid of the interloper first.

When they reached the door, Govart prodded Laurent forward with the knife and then stepped back away from the door so he would be out of sight when Laurent opened it. He kept the knife at gut-level, though in order to stay out of the way, he had to remove it from where it had been touching Laurent's skin. Laurent breathed a little easier without it right there.

Laurent opened the door, taking care to keep his injured shoulder out of sight on the other side of it, to find Damianos waiting on the stoop outside.

He was surprised to see him. It never would have occurred to him that Damianos, having done his duty already by welcoming his guest, would return. Something in Laurent's chest gave a painful squeeze, which startled him. He didn't even know the man, and yet the small degree of familiarity he had with him, from meeting him that afternoon and from Auguste's stories, suddenly made him feel as though Damen were a comforting presence. Laurent fought down the urge to step outside and curl up against Damen's chest and let the man wrap his arms around him and spirit him away from this place and from Govart.

But of course, he would be condemning them both to death and worse if he did any such thing.

As though to remind him of this, behind him, Govart prodded at the small of his back with the point of the knife. Laurent did his best to stifle a shiver.

"Damianos," he said, and before he could get any further, Damen held up a hand.

"Damen, please."

"Of course," Laurent said, remembering that he had told Laurent to call him that earlier in the afternoon. It had only been a few hours ago, but it felt like a whole world of time away. Laurent's first instinct was to ask him what he was doing here, but he thought that might pique him, if his attitude from earlier was anything to go by, and right now he didn't dare engage Damen in any conversation more than what was absolutely necessary. Every second he spent on the doorstep was another second that his life was at risk. Laurent needed to get rid of him, quickly.

Damen seemed to notice Laurent's state of undress at that point. His lips parted and his eyes trailed down from Laurent's face to his bare shoulder, then his chest, until finally they caught on the towel around Laurent's hips and he seemed to realized what he was doing, eyes snapping back up to Laurent's face.

"You've caught me coming out of the bath," Laurent said, by way of explanation. Damen's brow furrowed, but he didn't argue. "Is there something I can do for you, Damen?" Laurent prompted.

Damen gave his head a little unconscious shake. It made Laurent's chest hurt all over again, throbbing in time with the ache in his shoulder, to see such a simple, unselfconscious gesture. So free with his thoughts, his feelings. If he hadn't known it before, he knew it now: this man may have been nearly twice his size and at least five years his senior, but he was innocent in a way Laurent hadn't been in a long time. Unbidden, thoughts of his uncle's trial came to mind, and Laurent knew that more than just Damen's life was at stake if he lingered too long.

Just as the determination to fight back had settle over him upstairs, Laurent felt himself decide, almost without thought, that he would protect Damen from this, whatever it was to be. He wouldn't let his uncle or his cronies ruin another life. It was clear from Govart's reaction to Damen's presence that Damen was not here to help him. It was not Damen who had invited Govart here. Which had to mean that Laurent's second idea was the correct one: for whatever happened to Laurent before this night was over, Damen was the one meant to take the fall for it.

In response to Laurent's question, Damen said, "I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I should have been more understanding. What you've been through..."

He trailed off and Laurent pounced. "I'm well aware of what I've been through, thank you."

But Damen didn't bite back the way he had earlier. Instead, he merely nodded, looking penitent. "I shouldn't have been so rude to you," he went on, "given everything. I felt bad so," he held up a bottle of wine that Laurent hadn't noticed in his hands before (it was harder to pay attention to details, he was finding, with a stab wound to contend with and a knife at one's back). "I thought maybe we could --"

"That won't be necessary," Laurent cut him off.

For a split second, Damen almost looked hurt by this cold response. If that alone could wound him, then Laurent truly needed to get him out of here as quickly as possible.

"If that was all you needed," he said, making sure to put on his iciest front, "then you can go now. Apology accepted." He did his best impression of an insouciant wave, though it was admittedly difficult to do as the wound in his shoulder grew ever more insistent on being exclusively felt. Behind him, he felt Govart shift, pressing the knife point a little closer against his back. If Laurent didn't know better, he might have thought that Govart wanted to mess this up. Maybe he liked the idea of an audience. But Laurent managed to stand very still and, he thought, not give anything away.

Perhaps Damen caught a movement of shadow though, because his brow furrowed again, and his face, previously broken open on his evident disappointment that Laurent hadn't invited him inside, hardened. "Do you have company?" he asked. Laurent couldn't tell what he thought of that idea, though it seemed to bother him at some level, but whether he was offended or concerned, Laurent couldn't tell.

"Of course not," Laurent said. He didn't want to give Damen any reason to wait around for further conversation. "I only want to enjoy some time alone after, as you put it, everything I've been through. If that's not too much to ask. It is the reason you invited me here, isn't it?" he asked with an arched brow. He hoped this would be enough to push Damen back. He could feel the cold sweat returning to his face, and the pain in his shoulder was beginning to worsen. Either he was weakening himself by standing here, supporting his full weight with nothing but the door to help him, or the adrenaline which had flooded his body in response to the wound and the attack was slowly leaving him. Either way, he needed something -- not to be standing in this doorway anymore, at the very least.

"Of course," Damen said. His face still had that hardened expression, which did little to conceal his feelings. It was clear that Laurent's cold reception of his apology, and his peacemaking gift, had hurt him. Good. Let him go away with his tail between his legs then. Just let him go away.

Damen stepped down from the doorstep, but before Laurent could relax even fractionally, he turned back to face Laurent again.

"I know you've been hurt, Laurent," he said. His face was so earnest it almost shattered Laurent to look at. This man standing in front of him could never even have imagined or guessed what was happening just on the other side of the door. He had only meant to do something thoughtful and kind, and instead he had delivered Laurent to this. "And I'm sorry that I know things about you that you probably wish no one knew. But I know other things about you too. Even if only half of what Auguste told me about you is true, I know you aren't all this," he gestured to Laurent and breathed out before finishing, "coldness. And if you know anything about me from him, then you know I would never hurt you. I'd like to be your friend, if you would let me."

If Laurent were a different sort of person, he might have cracked then. He might have indulged his earlier fantasy and stepped out into the night, away from Govart and his knife and everything in Laurent's life that they represented. He might have allowed Damen, with his visible size and obvious strength, to try to save him.

But enough people had been hurt by their proximity to Laurent over the course of his life. Ultimately, he knew how it would end. So it was better to let Damen go, to push him away so that he wouldn't want to come back, and leave Laurent to do the dirty work of taking care of Govart. Or, at the very least, of making sure he brought Govart down with him, so that whatever happened before the night was over, none of it could be pinned on Damen.

"Auguste never told me anything about you," he said. "And you know less about me than you think you do."

In the two seconds it took for him to swing the door shut, he watched Damen's face carefully. What he saw there wasn't the hurt from before, nor the hardening that seemed to express his growing anger. Instead, it was acceptance. It hurt Laurent more than it should have to see it written there so plainly, especially since that was exactly what he wanted.

But the truth was that Auguste had told Laurent much about Damen. Before he died, he had long been after Laurent to visit his college friend with him, which Laurent always avoided, because he had school and then work, and then because he could plainly see the real reason Auguste wanted him to meet Damen so badly.

Auguste always hated the idea of Laurent being alone. As the years passed and Auguste kept pushing Laurent to come meet this famous Damianos, it became abundantly clear that the reason Auguste wanted them to meet so badly was because he thought they would make a good match. Of course, Auguste hadn't known why Laurent would never make a good match for anyone. The one blessing in Auguste being taken from him was that he had never known -- never known about their uncle or anything Laurent had lived through that Auguste hadn't been able to protect him from.

Only after Auguste and their parents died in the car crash did Laurent begin to consider taking legal action. And look at where that had gotten him.

Laurent shut the door in Damen's face.

As soon as the door was shut, he leaned heavily back against it and closed his eyes. It was for show, mostly. He wanted Govart thinking he was more affected by the wound in his shoulder than he really was. In reality, though, it was affecting him more than he liked. It had, for the most part, stopped bleeding, and he doubted he'd lost very much blood at all really, which meant that it was more likely the shock and trauma that had him feeling dizzy and sick to his stomach.

"He was ready to crawl in here on his knees for you," Govart said. Even with his eyes closed, Laurent could hear the grin in his voice. "Maybe we should have let him."

Evidently not getting the response from Laurent that he was hoping for, Govart leaned even closer, until Laurent could smell him and feel the heat from his body all along his own. "It's not too late," Govart went on. "He's probably still moping around out there like a kicked puppy. What do you say, should we call him back in? You always did appreciate a bit of an audience, didn't you?"

Laurent bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. It was all talk on Govart's part. At least, he was almost entirely sure it was all talk. Bringing Damen in would be risky, even if Govart would, no doubt, enjoy it more. But Damen was stronger than Laurent, and he would be more than a match for Govart if it came to a fight between the two of them, in terms of size alone. Govart didn't seem to have any weapons other than his knife -- though Laurent knew better than to assume that was necessarily the case -- and taking on Damen would be a challenge, one which there was no real reason to take.

At the same time, Laurent knew that if he gave away just how much it mattered to him to keep Damen on the other side of that door, he wouldn't put it past Govart to bring him in despite the risk, just to see what it would do to Laurent to have Damen there, forced to watch.

Govart laughed to himself then and Laurent opened his eyes in time to see him shaking his head. Then he grabbed Laurent once more -- by his uninjured shoulder this time -- and started leading him up the stairs, heading back to the bedroom.

As they walked, Laurent was hyperaware of the blade at his back, just where it would slide into him with the slightest pressure, to the right of his spine. Grotesquely, he had to credit his uncle. He certainly knew the value of being underestimated. It was clear that he had chosen Govart not just for his brute strength or even his apparent knowledge with his weapon of choice, but for the way the two intersected. No one who saw Govart would guess him to be much of a fighter with anything but his fists, but it was obvious, after some time together, that the knife in his hand was like an extension of his arm.

Still, he could be goaded into paying it less attention. As they moved up the stairs together, Laurent made sure to move more and more slowly, as though the ascent was exhausting him. Truthfully, he didn't need to fake it as much as he thought he would. He had never been stabbed before, and it was taking a lot out of him.

When they reached the top of the stairs, he dragged his feet. If Govart noticed any of this outright, he didn't give it away by responding beyond jabbing Laurent a little harder in the back with the knife. But his grip did loosen slightly on Laurent's arm, as though at some level, his body registered that Laurent's was becoming less of a threat.

Finally, as they made it about halfway down the hall, Govart's grip loosened just enough. It was now or never.

All at once, Laurent twisted his body, flinging out the arm that Govart had a grip on and driving his elbow into Govart's face. In less than a second, he was sprinting down the hall. But the blow didn't affect Govart as much as Laurent had hoped it would. With a shout of rage, Govart was running after him, already on his heels.

Laurent did a quick calculation. He could see that his chances of making it all the way to the bedroom were slim, and even if he got inside and got the door shut behind him, he didn't know whether the door locked. If it didn't, his strength alone would not be enough to keep Govart out.

But the bathroom door -- that did have a lock. He remembered it from when he'd been in the bath earlier.

Twisting again, Laurent turned and ducked just in time to avoid Govart grabbing him. He spun out of his reach, flung himself into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut with the full weight of his body against it.

Before he could turn the lock in the doorknob, Govart was there. He threw himself against the door, his weight against Laurent's. The door jumped in its frame, and Laurent knew that if Govart made the same move again before Laurent could turn the lock, he was finished.

On the other side of the door, Govart backed up to run at it again, and in the split second that he was away from the door, Laurent shoved it shut and twisted the lock. For now, at least, he was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Laurent remained there, slumped on the floor of the bathroom with his back to the door, for the next couple minutes as Govart tried one, two, three more times to break through. When breaking the door down, or at least breaking it out of the frame enough to push inside, proved fruitless, he gave up and instead stalked back and forth in the hallway outside. Laurent could hear him pacing, floorboards creaking beneath his weight.

It took several minutes for Laurent, breathing hard, to convince himself to peel away from the door. Realistically, he knew that his presence against it wouldn't do much more to keep Govart out if he found a way to bypass the lock. What he needed now was to find something that would help his shoulder, and to come up with a plan.

Still, it was hard to move away from the door, knowing Govart was waiting just on the other side.

Not wanting to aggravate Govart into trying his brute strength again, Laurent tried to be quiet as he pulled himself across the floor, away from the door and toward the sink.

At the very least, he would be able to dampen a towel and use that to clean up his shoulder. It might not help especially with the wound itself, but it would at least keep the flesh from pulling any time he tried to move, and perhaps being cleaned up a bit would help him focus. The blood was sticky, tacky on his skin, and it was distracting.

But before he bothered with the towels, he settled in front of the sink and began methodically going through the drawers and cabinets beneath it. Mostly they housed hand towels and a few hospitality items, like hand creams and tiny shampoo bottles. Nothing very useful. He looked up, and sure enough, there was another cabinet over the sink, attached to the mirror.

Laurent sighed, suddenly exhausted in a way he hadn't been since his teenage years, when it had been increasingly difficult to hide his loathing of his uncle beneath the weight of school and Auguste's absence from the house. But he wasn't about to lie down on this bathroom floor and wait for Govart to find a way inside, so he braced his good arm against the counter, grit his teeth, and got slowly, painfully to his feet.

His shoulder seemed to throb more with every passing second. Leaning his hips against the counter to support himself, he reached up to the cabinet with the uninjured arm, and he nearly cried out in relief when he saw sitting there a bright red, plastic first aid kit.

If he ever made it out of here, the first thing he would do when he got home was stock one of these in every room.

Laurent pulled the first aid kit down and sank gratefully back to the floor. He got the kit open but forced himself to examine its contents carefully, methodically. He wasn't well-versed in anything remotely medical, and besides, there might be more in the kit that he could use for less conventional purposes, something that might help him not just with his shoulder, but with Govart, if he was smart.

Inside the kit, there were several different sizes of Band-Aids, but Laurent thought he was rather past the point where those would do him any good. There were also antiseptic wipes and little packets of antibacterial cream, as well as a roll of gauze and some medical tape. There was also a small set of needles and thread, which seemed like more than what would be found in a standard, home-variety first aid kit. Those might be useful, but Laurent wasn't sure he had it in him to sew his own shoulder shut again.

The final piece in the kit was a bottle. Further examination revealed that it was a bottle of pain pills. Not bad stuff either. Laurent held it in his hand, regarding it, for a long moment.

It was tempting to take a couple, and the arguments in favor of it readily presented themselves. The longer Laurent went with the untreated wound in his shoulder, the more painful it became. Additionally, it seemed to be making him feel ill. Pain and sickness both were marks against him, in terms of sharp thinking, which was about all he had going for him in this situation.

On the other hand, he had spent most of his adult life avoiding anything that would lessen his ability to outthink his uncle. He had very little tolerance built up for things like alcohol or pills. If he took them in order to uncloud his mind from the injury, he might well end up fogging himself even further.

Best to avoid them. Pain he could handle, however challenging.

Laurent slipped the painkillers back into the first aid kit and took out the antiseptic wipes, antibacterial cream, gauze, and medical tape instead. When he tried to open the wipe first, in its little foil-and-paper packet, he realized that his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't get a good grip on it. He allowed himself one moment of anxious frustration, as he let his head fall back against the cabinet behind him, but then he carefully gathered himself back under control and opened the packet with his teeth.

The sting of the antiseptic wipe against the stab wound was a sharp, fresh feeling, and it brought a little clarity back into his head. Before he went further, he got up onto his knees, took one of the hand towels from a drawer, and wet it in the sink, turning the water on at such a low pressure that he hoped Govart wouldn't hear what he was up to.

He listened to Govart continue pacing outside as he dabbed the damp towel to his shoulder, doing his best to clean up the blood surrounding the wound. Every once in a while, on the other side of the door, he would hear Govart mutter to himself. Sometimes he stalked off to a different room, maybe looking for keys to all the doors, or anything else that he might use to get Laurent back.

Once the blood was cleaned up as much as Laurent could get it without wasting time, he used another antiseptic wipe on the wound and did his best to examine it. He didn't know much about stab wounds -- a lapse on his part, he was realizing -- but while deep, it didn't seem especially horrible. The blade hadn't gone all the way through to the other side, which seemed like a good thing. No doubt it would need stitches at some point, if Laurent made it that long, but for now, it seemed to help just to smear some of the antibiotic over it, wrap it with the gauze, and tape the makeshift bandage into place.

Despite the pain that contorting and moving around increased, his head felt clearer once the wound had been treated, even roughly, and bandaged.

As he finished dressing the wound, he realized that he hadn't heard Govart moving around outside in more than a couple minutes. He crawled back over to the door, dragging himself as quietly as possible, and pressed his ear against it, trying to hear any hint as to where Govart might have gone. But there was nothing.

Laurent closed his eyes and strained his ears trying to hear, but still no sound reached him. And then, so suddenly that he jumped and spun around, he heard something from behind him, on the other side of the bathroom.

At first when he turned, he didn't see what had made the sound, a quiet clicking noise that he couldn't quite place. His whole body had gone cold at the sound of it. Then, after scanning the room and seeing that Govart was not, in fact, inside with him somehow, he looked to the window.

He jumped all over again as he realized that there was a face staring back at him through it, but after a moment, he calmed somewhat. It wasn't Govart on the other side of the second-floor window, it was Damen.

His own brow furrowed. What was Damen doing here? How had he gotten outside of this window, and more importantly, why?

Damen noticed that he had Laurent's attention and, his expression serious, he tapped on the window again, and then gestured for Laurent to come toward him.

Laurent shook his head. Damen needed to get out of here now, before Govart realized he was still hanging around. If Govart hadn't realized it already. Laurent felt a chill roll down his spine as he remembered that Govart had disappeared from the hallway outside the door, and that he had no idea where he'd gone.

In response to Laurent's refusal, Damen only gestured again for him to come over. Laurent waved him away, desperately trying to communicate that Damen had to get out of there. But still, Damen refused, remaining staunchly where he was perched outside. He didn't seem willing to leave, and the longer he hung there on whatever tree or trellis he had climbed to reach the window, the more likely it was that Govart would find him. And it would be all too easy to exploit his position, Laurent realized. He would be safer inside the locked room with Laurent than he would be out there, if he was going to insist on remaining.

Laurent closed his eyes and breathed out. If he was going to do this, he knew, it meant inviting Damen into this thing with Govart. There would be no sending Damen back out of it again. But he couldn't just leave him hanging out there, waiting for Govart to discover him.

Painstakingly, Laurent crossed the bathroom floor on his knees. It was getting harder and harder to stand, even after treating the wound to the best of his ability. He had to stand when he reached the window, though, in order to get it open, which was an ordeal of its own as his strength was failing him and he had to use both hands to lift the window up enough that Damen could squeeze through.

Damen managed to roll gracefully into the room as Laurent backed away from him, trying to school his breathing to be calm and measured. Before he did anything else, and without prompting from Laurent, Damen immediately turned back to the window to shut and lock it once more.

And then he was on Laurent, his hands gently running over Laurent's shoulders, his face. Laurent jumped and grit his teeth at the sudden contact, and a second later, Damen was backing away from him, his hands raised. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have said something first, but I saw the bandage, and I saw the knife, and I just panicked."

Laurent forced himself to swallow down the panic that had risen in him, forced himself to breathe, to release the tension which had sprung to his entire body in an instant. And then he regarded Damen, learning what he could from his face -- open and clearly distressed -- and his body, which was held carefully in check, now on the other side of the room, with as much space between them as they could have hoped for in the small bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" Laurent managed to ask in a whisper. It didn't sound calm, exactly, but it was better than slipping into an outright panic attack.

"When we were talking earlier," Damen said, not meeting Laurent's eyes, or looking at him at all for that matter, "in the doorway, I thought something was off. You said you'd just gotten out of the bath, but your hair wasn't wet. And then I thought I saw a shadow move behind you, but you said you didn't have anyone visiting. I know the trial just ended, and I was sort of worried about you. So while I was walking home, I glanced back through the window, and I saw that guy walking you up the stairs with a knife to your back."

Damen drew in his own deep breath, but a quick glance over him told Laurent that he wasn't injured. Rather, he seemed upset. Angry.

"It took me a little while to figure out where you must be. I used to climb that tree sometimes when I had friends visiting, so when I realized you were in here, I came up. We have to get you out of here."

Laurent rolled his eyes, and it felt good to do something so familiar. "Thank you for that stunning assessment of the situation," he said. "You've set us back considerably by coming. Now I have to get both of us out."

Damen gave Laurent a heavy look, one which seemed to contain several sentiments at once. Among them, if Laurent had to guess, skepticism that Laurent was capable of getting either of them out of this mess, which rankled. But also concern. And he had come back. He had come back here, putting himself at risk, just to help Laurent.

"Laurent," Damen said now, his voice heavy with the same emotions which were plain across his face. "What's going on? Who is this man? You could have told me if you were bringing someone with you, and I -- I could have," he trailed off.

Laurent, choking on his own bitterness, almost laughed. "You think I brought him here," he said. "And what, this is a lovers' quarrel gone wrong?"

Damen at least had the good grace to look embarrassed.

All at once, the fight left Laurent. He didn't have the strength or the energy to fight his own pain and exhaustion and fear, and Govart, and Damen all together. "I didn't bring him here," he said. "His name is Govart. He worked for my uncle."

Damen's eyes went wide. "Your uncle," he said, and Laurent knew exactly what he was thinking. The sad part was that all of it was accurate.

Wearily, he nodded.

Damen looked like he was going to be sick. For a long moment, neither of them said anything else. They just sat quietly in the room together. Some innate part of Laurent seemed to feel Damen's presence as a balm, as some sort of mark of safety. The exhaustion which had been channeling itself all night into desperation and his fight-or-flight response now seemed to want to take him over, turning his limbs heavy and pliant, as though he could afford to curl up here on the floor and sleep.

He couldn't do that, of course, no matter how tempting it might have been. For one thing, he couldn't allow himself to trust Damen that deeply. He may have been strong and good-willed -- even, by all appearances, sweet. He may have been innocent and a friend of Auguste's. But he was still a stranger, and Laurent knew better than to trust people he didn't know inside and out -- especially if they gave him a feeling of safety that he couldn't quantify.

Without moving forward from his place a few feet away, Damen reached up to unzip the hoodie he was wearing. Before Laurent could wonder what he was up to and tense all over again, Damen handed the hoodie to him. Laurent regarded it warily for a moment, but he didn't see how there could be any ulterior motive in giving him some real clothes to wear, so he took it and carefully slipped into it, gingerly pulling it over the wounded shoulder with his opposite hand.

When he struggled to set the zipper up, Damen crawled toward him on his knees, carefully keeping his hands where Laurent could see them. Something twisted in Laurent's stomach to see that. It warmed him to see how Damen cared not to startle him again, while at the same time, he was upset by his own need to be coddled. Still, when Damen slowly reached out and zipped up the hoodie for him, Laurent could only look away to keep from revealing the churning emotions in his chest.

Once that was finished, Damen settled once again on the other side of the room, a few feet away.

The hoodie, dark blue, was soft and warm and immediately helped Laurent feel more in control and less on edge. He hadn't realized how anxious he felt being practically naked -- not anxious in how it left him revealed necessarily, but it was as though once he had clothes on him again, he had an extra layer of protection between himself and the world. And maybe it was all in his head, but the added warmth seemed to soothe some of the tension out of his injured shoulder.

"Thank you," he said, using his adjustment of the hoodie down past his hips to give him an excuse to avoid looking at Damen.

He had always been of an average size, but in comparison to Damen, anyone would have been small. The result of this was that the hoodie came down well past his hips, which meant he could finally drop the damp towel from around himself.

"I would give you my jeans," Damen said, "but I don't think they would stay up."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Laurent couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him. "No, I would imagine they wouldn't," he said. "Auguste never mentioned that you were quite so," he paused to consider what word might do justice to Damen's ridiculous size, and then landed on, "massive."

Damen's lip quirked, not quite in a smile, but almost. "I thought you said Auguste never mentioned me."

Laurent met his eyes for the first time since he had first rolled through the window and examined him for further injuries. "I was trying to hurt you so you would leave."

Across from him, Damen visibly swallowed against whatever emotion arose in him, or perhaps against what he really wanted to say. "Why didn't you tell me what was going on? I could have done something."

"You mean why, besides the knife pressed against my back the entire time you were hovering there, trying to get me to invite you in for wine?"

Damen nodded.

"Govart told me that if I tried anything, he would make you watch while he raped me, and then kill the both of us. And he would have at least tried to make good on that promise."

Damen looked like he was going to be sick. But he wrangled himself back into control and said, "You should have asked for help. I would have done whatever I could."

Laurent softened a little at that. The thing was, he believed that Damen was telling the truth. If he had any reason to believe, down there at the door, what was happening, he would have done anything in his power to stop it right then and there.

"Well," Laurent said. "It seems you've managed to get yourself involved anyway, despite my efforts."

"Laurent," Damen said, his tone of voice once more serious, somber, the single name in his mouth coming out like it was weighted down by everything that had happened not just that night, but over the last twelve weeks of the trial, the past two years since Auguste died and Damen lost his best friend at the same time that Laurent lost his brother, the person he was and always had been closer to than anyone. "How did this Govart know where to find you?" Damen asked.

"I didn't tell anyone where I would be," he said. "Not specifically." He waited for Damen to draw his own conclusions from that.

"I didn't tell anyone you would be here," he said. "Only Kastor knew that I was going to put you up here for a few days after the trial."

Laurent held his gaze, waiting. Damen understood the significance, though it took him a moment to voice it. "But why would Kastor give you up?" he asked, and it was unclear now whether he was really asking Laurent, or if he was asking himself.

"Your brother is hardly the picture of innocence," Laurent pointed out, thinking back to the scandal from those years earlier, when it came out that Kastor and Jokaste were having an affair -- an affair which had led to a child.

It looked as though it pained Damen to hear this, but he didn't argue. "Kastor isn't opposed to cruelty," he admitted. "But he doesn't seek it out for its own sake, and he doesn't think like this. This is," he grimaced, "grotesque. It's like an evil game. That's not how Kastor thinks. And he would never get himself involved in something so messy."

"Not unless he stood to gain something," Laurent agreed. "For example, your father's company. The Akielos empire. Which, if I'm not mistaken, is almost all set to go to you."

"But how could this --" Damen broke off. His face changed then, from the open expression of confusion and hurt to one of anger and understanding. "This is Jokaste," he said. "She's the one who could think up something like this. If you die on our property, if you were murdered and," he stuttered and didn't finish that thought before moving on, "they would say it was me. Then I would go to prison, Govart would get away with it, and Kastor would get everything."

"Yes, I expect that's the idea," Laurent agreed. "You are rather known to have a penchant for blondes."

"But I would  _ never _ ," he said. "Laurent, I would never do any of that. People know I wouldn't."

Laurent shrugged, which hurt rather badly. "You'd be surprised how effective a good, salacious headline can be," he said. He'd been on the bad end of them often enough lately to know.

Damen met his eyes, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Perhaps it was finally hitting Damen just how deep he'd gotten himself by tapping on that window. But before they could discuss the situation any further, all of the lights in the bathroom suddenly went out, enveloping them in utter darkness. Somewhere, Govart had turned off the power to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying the story!


	5. Chapter 5

"He cut the power," Laurent whispered.

Apparently coming to the same conclusion that Laurent had reached, Damen said, "He knows I'm here."

Laurent agreed. Cutting the power was a risk. Govart would limit what Laurent could see, but he was limiting himself too. In order for the risk to be worth it, he would have to know that without a change, he was outmatched. Somehow he'd realized Damen had gotten inside. Maybe he'd seen him in the window, or heard their whispers through the door. Or maybe someone at the main house had tipped him off.

Whatever had done it, they didn't have the element of surprise on their side where Damen was concerned, and they were sitting ducks in the bathroom.

"Where would he have to go to shut down the power?" Laurent asked.

"Outside. Not far, but a little distance away."

Laurent nodded even though Damen couldn't see him, thinking to himself. Before he decided what their next move should be, Damen spoke again.

"Does he have a gun?"

Laurent considered the question. He hadn't seen any sign of a gun, but he knew Govart owned them and knew how to use them. Still, when he spoke, he said, "No, I don't think he does. This is personal for him. He would want to do this," Laurent's lip curled, "intimately."

"We should get out of this room," Damen said then. When Laurent didn't immediately agree, he went on. "If we just sit here, he knows exactly where we are. All we can do is wait for him to find a way inside."

"We might be able to wait him out until morning."

"Maybe," Damen said, "but there's no reason for anyone to come looking for us, Laurent."

Laurent understood what Damen was saying. No one knew Laurent was here except for Damen and those few who had enacted this plot against them. No one knew to look for them here, and no one would be looking for Damen on his own property at all. Therefore, there was no reason to assume this would end with the rising sun. Govart had nothing to lose now. Two people had seen him; he was enmeshed in a plot larger than himself. He had to succeed or die trying.

"No one wins a game only playing defense," Laurent said. If he had ever believed that putting his uncle behind bars meant he could relax, that he could stop thinking of his life as a game to be won or lost, he had been a fool.

"If we go now," Damen said, "we can change our position before he gets back into the house. He'll think we're still in here; we might be able to surprise him."

Damen was right. If they sat here in the dark, they were just waiting for Govart to find a way inside, or to come up with a better idea. Laurent knew what he would do, if their positions were reversed. It would be easy enough to set a fire in the kitchen and then wait outside the bathroom window. If they died inside the house, so much the better. It would spoil Govart's fun, but he had bigger concerns now. If they climbed out the window to escape the smoke, he could pick them off easily as they tried to reach the ground. He could hope Govart wouldn't come up with the same plan. Or he could do something about it.

"Let's go," he said.

In the dark, he didn't see Damen move in close behind him, but he could feel him there by the warmth of his body.

Laurent knew they couldn't waste much time discussing what to do, and it seemed to him that there was only one right answer. They had to try to get out of here, and that meant reaching the front door.

"To the stairs," he whispered into the darkness. And then, without waiting for an affirmative from Damen, he unlocked the bathroom door.

He didn't hear anything from outside, from any direction. He hoped that Govart hadn't yet made it back into the house from his little excursion to turn off the power. But there was no real way to know. He might have found a way into the house other than the door. It was also possible that he had managed to re-enter by the door without making any tell-tale sounds.

Wherever he was, with the bathroom door open, they were committed now to making their move. If they were sitting ducks before, it was far worse now, and any moment spent hesitating was one where Govart might be able to take them by surprise.

Laurent darted out into the hallway, keeping his body as low to the ground as he could. It was difficult to see, but once he passed out of the hall and into the loft, there was a bit more light filtering in from the windows and the appliances in the kitchen down below. As he ran, doing his best to move quietly and quickly without further harming his shoulder, he was aware of Damen behind him.

His presence there was comforting. Whereas before, any bid Laurent made in his own favor had felt desperate, like an unhinged attempt to, at the very least, make Govart's assault as miserable for him as he could, now for the first time, he was beginning to feel as though he might have a real chance at making it out of this.

From the top of the stairs he could see the front door. It was hardly the final frontier of this horror -- there was no car outside, after all, to carry them to safety. The only other occupied building for miles was the Akielos main house further up the road, and the only people there were the ones who had orchestrated this plot. They wouldn't find any help there. But despite all of that, the door seemed to glimmer, beckoning Laurent toward it.

Still, he moved more cautiously down the stairs, one step at a time, in case Govart revealed himself before he got much further.

He'd only made it down the first few steps when he realized that Damen was no longer right behind him. Immediately, terror gripped him. Had Govart snuck up on him, gotten the knife into him before Damen could make so much as a sound?

When he turned, however, he saw Damen still crouched at the top of the stairs, peering into the deep shadows down below. Laurent paused, waiting. If Damen saw something, some movement that indicated Govart might be there, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, he wasn't going to walk right into his hands if he could help it.

He felt the sudden grip around his ankle almost as though it wasn't actually happening to him, so focused was he on everything else around him.

Then the hand tightened and pulled, and he fell forward down the stairs, crashing his wounded shoulder along the steps as he went, reopening the wound. He regained his feet quickly as he reached the bottom of the steps, but Govart was already scrambling out from his hiding place beneath the stairs. Laurent saw him at the same moment that he heard Damen shout his name, now from overhead.

Distracted, responding to the sound of Damen's voice calling for him, he looked up just in time to see Damen throw himself over the rail of the loft. He landed on the living room carpet with a thud just behind Govart. But his yell had distracted Govart too -- no doubt saving Laurent's life, but also giving Govart enough time to turn to face him before Damen could make another move.

Damen managed to get a grip on Govart's shirt, yanking him away from Laurent. In a moment, the two of them were engaged in a fight of their own, mostly consisting of Damen's fists making whatever contact they could with Govart, without getting Damen impaled on the knife he was still waving around.

Laurent deliberated for all of two seconds, and then he sprinted -- or as close to sprinting as he could manage -- to the kitchen. Even two against one, unless Damen could get the knife away from Govart, things weren't looking good. But if they had a weapon of their own on their side, perhaps they could turn the tides of this fight.

There was more light to see by in the kitchen, due to the lights from the appliances: the clock on the stove, the glow from the microwave. Laurent considered opening the refrigerator to give Damen more light, where he was still grappling ten feet away with Govart, but since Govart was still the only one of them with a weapon, Laurent thought the extra light might do more harm than good. So instead he dedicated himself to finding something useful.

There was no knife block in the kitchen, which Laurent silently cursed. The first drawer he opened contained only dish towels. The second, small bits and bobs, little trinkets for use in novelty cooking and reusable wine bottle stoppers. The one after that was stuffed with extra sponges and rubber gloves for doing dishes. Laurent swore, but then finally, he found the utensil drawer, which had a handful of cooking knives. He grabbed one that looked both hefty and long enough to do real damage without forcing him to get too close to Govart, and then he darted back to where Govart and Damen were grappling with each other at the foot of the stairs.

As he ran over, he watched Damen get one good punch in directly to Govart's face, but while it looked like it must have been painful, Govart didn't even stumble. The two of them were a similar size, and while Damen had more obvious muscle, Laurent knew that Govart was a skilled fighter in his own right. The two of them appeared to be evenly matched.

Fortunately for Laurent, he had no qualms with running up behind someone to stab them in the back. As far as he was concerned, Govart had thrown honor out the window the moment he'd begun threatening rape and murder.

Unfortunately for Laurent, Govart hadn't been as unaware of his presence as he'd hoped, and at the last moment, just as Laurent was about to plunge the knife into Govart's ribcage, the larger man spun around, in one motion throwing Damen off of him and swinging his own knife at Laurent.

Laurent ducked out of its trajectory and made a bid for an upward thrust with his own knife. He managed to nick Govart's chest, but through his t-shirt it didn't look as though he'd made enough contact to do any real damage. It didn't slow him down at all as he advanced on Laurent once again. He was quicker than he looked, with reflexes forged in real fights rather than just practice rings and training arenas. Laurent had to be careful with his strikes, lest Govart get a grip around his wrist and force the knife from his hand.

The two of them circled one another slowly, while off to the side, Damen was getting to his feet. It was a dangerous situation for all of them, but as long as Laurent and Damen didn't do anything foolish or make a fatal mistake, their victory was only a matter of time. Two against one were bad odds in any situation, and Govart was well-matched by both of them, more so by Laurent even than he would have expected to be. And he knew it.

So, rather than continue to engage in a fight he would almost certainly lose if it went on long enough, he had two options: he could take a risk, or he could run. Laurent wasn't sure which he would pick, but he knew which his uncle would have chosen.

It was clear from Govart's face that he was angry, and in being so, he was losing control over himself. His teeth were bared as he circled Laurent, and he might be goaded into taking a risk that was unlikely to pay off. Past his shoulder, Damen was closing in. If Laurent could keep Govart from noticing him, this would all be finished in a moment. All he had to do was distract Govart long enough, make him angry enough, that his full attention would be locked on Laurent, until Damen could get the knife away from him and take him down.

"How does it feel," he said, his voice strangled by his own labored breathing, "to finally be on the other side of the door? Is this what you wanted? Is it everything you hoped it would be?"

Govart snarled. "I should have cut out your tongue when I had the chance."

"Yes," Laurent agreed, "you should have."

With that, Govart dove forward, grabbing for Laurent with one hand while drawing back the hand holding his knife, as though he were going to try again now. Laurent had a fraction of a second to feel all the blood in his body freeze, and then Damen was on Govart, tackling him to the ground.

All of the breath left Laurent at once as he realize just how close he had truly come to death. It was clear that, as far as Govart was concerned, this had to end now as quickly as possible. He was outnumbered and outmatched. There was no fun left to be had. In only one scenario did he come out on top in this situation, and it was only if he managed to kill both Damen and Laurent.

Govart shouted in rage as Damen took him down, but even angry to the point of incoherent screaming, he was a force to be reckoned with. Before Damen could get the knife out of Govart's hand, Govart twisted in his grip. Laurent, watching for an opening where he could get in to stick his own knife into Govart, couldn't see exactly what happened next, but Damen cried out and his grip slackened, freeing Govart to kick him in the shoulder, and then the face, as he scrambled to get out from underneath his weight.

Stomach twisting, Laurent forced himself to keep his eyes on Govart, rather than Damen. On the floor, Damen was stirring, attempting to get back up onto his feet, but whatever damage Govart had done to him, it must have been considerable, because regaining his feet seemed to be a struggle which was taking all of his energy.

Once more, Govart and Laurent were facing off against one another, but this time, there was no Damen behind Govart that Laurent could count on to take him down. This time, the gambit had to be his own.

Doing his best to draw in a breath to steady himself, Laurent assessed Govart, the way he was holding his body, the position of his knife, and then he made his move. He darted in beneath his outstretched arm, once more ducking the knife, and this time he managed to drive his own knife toward Govart's exposed side. Govart deflected the blow so that the blade didn't embed into him, but not until after it sliced through his side, opening a significant gash in his flesh.

Before Laurent could celebrate this victory, however, Govart lashed out with his own knife, and while Laurent pushed back to avoid it slicing across his face, Govart used his free hand to wrap his fingers around the wrist holding Laurent's own knife. He squeezed, digging his thumb into the tendons there, until Laurent's hand unclenched and the knife dropped to the floor.

Govart didn't waste any time. Using his grip on that same wrist, he pulled Laurent flush against his body so that he could press the full length of his knife to Laurent's throat. One slash and Laurent would be bleeding out across the white carpet. But Damen had finally managed to stand once more, and though one of his hands was pressed tightly against a wound his gut, spilling blood from between his fingers, the other had picked up Laurent's dropped knife from the kitchen.

He didn't wait to see what Govart would do, whether he would risk slashing Laurent's throat now to try his luck with Damen afterward. He didn't even give Govart the chance to make that choice. Instead he rushed forward, slicing across the back of Govart's hand where it was holding the blade tight to Laurent's neck.

The longer the fight went on, the more prominent Damen's prowess became. Even wounded, Damen was more than a match for Govart. They could all see it. Govart's only chance was to get away from him, and so in his second risky move in as many minutes, he changed his grip on Laurent, digging one hand into his injured shoulder and twining the other into his hair, wresting them around so that he could use Laurent as a sort of human shield, and repositioning them so that he could begin to drag Laurent back up the stairs.

It was all Laurent could do to keep his feet underneath him, and a couple of times Govart pulled him so fast and so hard after him that Laurent's ankles banged hard against the steps. Meanwhile his vision was going dark around the edges, the sick feeling in his stomach ramping up, as Govart's blunt, hard fingers dug mercilessly into the wound in his shoulder.

Below them, Damen had recovered from being thrown off, but the wound in his stomach was clearly affecting him. It was no glancing blow, no minor gash like the one Laurent had inflicted on Govart. Govart had gotten his blade into Damen, by the looks of it, about as far as it would go. Through the watering of his eyes, Laurent could see how the color had drained out of Damen's face, and in any other circumstances, it was hard to imagine that he wouldn't have fallen to the ground already. There was a growing puddle of blood beneath him and his legs were unsteady as he forced himself to walk to the stairs.

Govart had already gotten Laurent halfway up them before Damen even managed to set foot on the bottom step. Laurent swallowed down the panic, the desperation, and the heart-wrenching grief that stole over him in that moment. It didn't look like Damen was going to be able to help him much more than he already had. All he could do was hope that he managed to get away from this.

"Damen," he choked out, past the pain in his shoulder and the nausea in his gut. " _ Run _ ."

And then Govart dragged him up onto the loft and all but flung him down the hallway.

Laurent gasped in pain as he hit the floor. His vision blurred and went hazy for a moment, and he was dimly aware of the fact that his shoulder was once more steadily oozing blood. He felt as though he might vomit and whenever he blinked, he saw flashes of Damen downstairs, his own bloody hand held to the wound in his stomach.

He didn't even have a chance to stand up before Govart's grip was back in his hair, and he dragged him down the hall toward the bedroom. Vaguely, Laurent felt gratitude for the hoodie which covered him and protected most of his body from the burn of the carpet as his skin was scraped across it. But why the bedroom? Why not just kill him here, now, in the hall?

Maybe Govart, now confident in his victory, was determined to follow through on his earlier threats after all. He was certainly angry enough.

He pulled Laurent all the way down to the bedroom until his head was aching almost as badly as his shoulder, and then he threw Laurent inside, tossing him like he was little more than a bag of garbage. Laurent landed against the bedpost, punching the breath from his lungs. He heard the lock in the door click.

As he looked up to see Govart advancing on him, the promise he'd made to himself earlier in the night came back to him. The odds that he would ever step foot outside of this room again were almost nonexistent now. His shoulder, with its abused wound and increased blood loss, was hurting him badly and robbing him of his ability to think clearly. Damen lay alone downstairs, possibly dying from whatever injury Govart had managed to inflict before escaping up here. The door was locked, trapping the two of them together, back where they had started. Laurent had no weapon, the sharpness of his mind was failing him as he lost more and more blood, and the strength was fading from his body the longer he endured his injuries without help or relief.

But he refused to lie down and let Govart freely have from him whatever he wanted. He would not make this easy. If Govart wanted him, he would have to take it. Laurent would not go down without a fight.

With this thought in his head, he got a grip on the bedpost and slowly, painstakingly, he pulled himself to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Laurent kept his back to the bed as Govart advanced on him. It was hard to think as quickly as he usually did, but despite the pain which only seemed to grow with every passing moment, he thought he could still rely on his body for speed at least. Out in the house, it would be difficult to evade Govart for long, because his limbs were longer and he could cover further distance more quickly than Laurent as a result. But locked into one room together, those long legs of his were less likely to be of use to him. Lauent would be able to dart and speed around, and that was exactly what he planned to do, for as long as he was capable.

His first opportunity came when Govart lunged for him. He was no longer messing around, it seemed. He dove forward with the knife in his hand outstretched, ready to make a killing blow if the chance arose. Fortunately for Laurent, it didn't.

Laurent saw the blow coming and ducked just in time, rolling painfully below Govart's arm and onto his other side. Once again, he slipped to the side, putting the bed between them. Govart would either have to run around it to reach him, or crawl over the top, which would significantly slow him down.

Govart scowled from the other side of the bed. It was clear that he was angry, that he only wanted for this to be finished now. Any thoughts he'd had about torturing Laurent and enjoying himself had since left him. They were little more than two animals, both wounded, locked together in a battle that only one of them could win. Laurent wasn't convinced that it would be him, but he knew he would do everything in his power to try.

He thought back over what he had seen in the room earlier. On this side of the bed, he was opposite the closet, which was unfortunate. Perhaps he could have used a coat hanger as a makeshift weapon, if he could have moved quickly enough to grab one without Govart getting ahold of him.

On this side of the bed, there was nothing but the small writing desk. Laurent lunged for it at the same time that Govart chose to circle the end of the bed, rather than trying to climb over it. Laurent grabbed one of the pens from the cup on the desk with just enough time to drive it into Govart's shoulder, close to where it met his neck, forcing him to stumble back a few paces.

Govart screamed in rage, and when he ran forward again, Laurent realized his mistake. In going for the pens, he had cornered himself against the desk. He had only just enough room to twist away to avoid Govart, and then he was still well within his reach.

For the split second that the two of them were within arm's reach of one another, Laurent could see the pen where it was embedded in Govart's shoulder, but even that wasn't enough to slow him down. Govart paused for one moment to reach up with his opposite hand, wrap his long fingers around the pen, and pull it out of his shoulder with one brusque movement that made Laurent feel sick to watch.

In the time it took for Govart to remove the pen, Laurent thought back to what he had known since all of this started: that any chance he had came from being underestimated. But before he could do anything, he had to move away from Govart, without allowing him to stand in the way of Laurent's only remaining shot.

With his uninjured arm, Laurent struck. He put his full weight behind it, because in order for this to work, Govart would have to think it was his last, desperate attempt. And sure enough, Govart blocked the blow easily, a triumphant grin already spreading on his face even as Laurent reached behind him with the injured arm and grasped the back of the chair at the writing desk. With every last ounce of strength he could summon, and with a mighty wrench of pain deep in his shoulder, he swung the chair at Govart.

At the same time, he heard Damen shouting from out in the hall. Before he could even feel relief that Damen wasn't lying dead in a pool of his own blood downstairs, there came a loud bang and the door to the bedroom shook in its frame.

Laurent's attention was drawn back then to the chair in his grasp as it made contact with Govart's head and shoulders. He hadn't seen it coming until the last second, when it was already too late to move away or try to block the blow, and it hit him with a thunderous crash at the same time that the banging sound came once more from the direction of the door.

Govart dropped to the floor, first on his knees and then onto his side. The chair had broken across his shoulders, but Laurent lifted what remained of it over his head and brought it down over Govart's skull once more.

He was about to do it again, even though Govart showed no signs of stirring, much less standing up. But as he was lifting it for a final blow, the door finally gave out behind him, and then Damen was rushing into the room. In a flash, he had already taken in the scene, run up to Laurent, and gently eased the broken chair pieces from his hands, bringing his arms back down.

"Laurent," he said, his voice gentle and far calmer than Laurent could have managed at that moment. "Laurent, he's down. Stop -- you're going to hurt yourself."

Damen set the chair pieces down on the floor and then stepped forward, kneeling on the ground beside where Govart lay. He didn't speak to Laurent as he pressed two fingers to Govart's throat, but when he moved back again, it was to dig through the closet until he found a belt. He then used it to secure Govart's wrists together. Laurent watched from a distance of a few feet while Damen dragged Govart over to the bed, using the remaining length of the belt to secure Govart to it.

"I don't think he's going anywhere," Damen said, "but it's better to be safe."

So Laurent hadn't killed him then. Not yet anyway. He eyed the blood and bruises across Govart's head and face and doubted very much whether he would ever wake up again. He found he didn't feel much about that, one way or another, and that was how he realized that the shock was finally settling in.

He allowed Damen to guide him around for the next few minutes. Damen found a pair of Laurent's pajama pants in the closet and turned around while Laurent pulled them on. Then he brought Laurent downstairs, never touching him, only suggesting with his body where Laurent ought to go. He got him settled on the couch in the living room, a blanket around his shoulders. For a few minutes he disappeared from Laurent's sight, but Laurent could still hear him puttering around the kitchen, and the sound of it was comforting.

Damen returned a few minutes later with a cup of hot tea, which he held out to Laurent. Laurent took it gratefully. He knew he could have pulled the mask down over his face, straightened his shoulders, wounded or otherwise, and done all of this himself. But the strange thing was, he didn't feel as though he needed to. His usual desire to prove that he could take care of himself seemed to have left him, at least for the moment, the instant Govart had fallen to the floor. He had proven himself enough for one night. For now, if Damen wanted to step in and take care of things for a little while, Laurent saw no reason why he shouldn't allow him to do so.

And in any case, it was sort of sweet, watching him bustle around, as well as he could with the injury to his abdomen. It reminded Laurent a little of Auguste, of how it had felt to have someone in his life who wanted to take care of him.

"Laurent," Damen said to get his attention. "Do you have a phone here?" A little sheepishly, he added, "I left mine at the house."

Laurent nodded, thinking back to the last time he'd seen it. He would have grabbed it, of course, if he'd come across it during everything. But he hadn't seen it since he'd been in the bath, texting Nicaise. And it hadn't been there anymore when he'd managed to lock himself inside.

"I think Govart must have taken it," he said. He must have snuck into the bathroom from across the hall after Laurent got out of the bath. He'd taken the phone, slipped it into his pocket, and then followed Laurent into the bedroom.

Damen went back up the stairs and returned a couple minutes later with Laurent's phone in his hand.

"How is he?" Laurent asked. Slowly, he was beginning to feel more like himself again. The tea Damen had given him was still a little too hot, but it was grounding in his hands, and it smelled good and strong.

"Still breathing," Damen said, "but barely."

Laurent searched himself for remorse, or for satisfaction, but found none of either. He had simply done what he could to protect himself. He didn't relish it, but he didn't regret it either. Whatever anyone else thought of what he had done, he knew the truth of it. And, it seemed, so did Damen. That was a more comforting thought than Laurent might have guessed.

"And you?" he asked. "I saw that he --" he reached out toward Damen, as though he could have healed his wounds with his own hands.

Damen lifted his shirt and grimaced as he showed the gash to Laurent. Laurent dimly noticed that, bloody stab wound or not, Damen looked as good under his clothes as he did in them. "Not as bad as I thought at first," Damen said. "It looks worse than it is. I'll be okay."

Damen used Laurent's phone to call the police then. After that, it was all sirens and flashing lights, police officers in their uniforms with guns and questions. Questions and questions and questions, sometimes the same ones over and over again, exactly like the courtroom. If Laurent had felt like this night was never going to end before, it was nothing compared to this. Damen fielded as many of the questions as he could, and even when it came time for Laurent to describe everything that had happened from the beginning of the night to the end, it felt good, comforting and reassuring, to know that there was someone, at least, in the room who believed him about all of it.

It was a painful process, but finally, they got through it together. Paramedics patched up Laurent's shoulder and Damen's abdomen there at the guest house, and then brought them to the hospital. And when Laurent woke up several hours later in the hospital room, Damen was asleep in the chair beside his bed.

#

From the kitchen, the microwave beeped. "I'll get it," Laurent called into the house. He started down the long, dark hall toward the kitchen with an itch in his shoulder. He was slowly learning to adjust to having the lights in the house off sometimes, though it could be challenging on nights like this one, when the world outside the walls was still and quiet, the scent of pine on the air.

To bring himself back, he slipped his phone from his pocket and checked his messages. He had seven work emails, which he ignored, and three texts from Nicaise, all snarkily complaining that he hadn't heard from Laurent recently enough.

_ It's been six hours _ , Laurent texted back.

Immediately the response came in:  _ not like you have anything better to do _ .

_ Than text you? On the contrary, I can think of several things. _

_ dont be gross _ , Nicaise wrote back. And then, to follow up,  _ have fun, dont do anything i wouldnt do. _

Laurent smiled and put the phone back into his pocket just as he reached the kitchen. When he reached overhead to pull down a large glass bowl, the scar in his shoulder twinged, but it didn't hurt him too badly.

It had been a few months since his night with Govart, and the shoulder was almost as good as new. He'd been right in his assessment that the wound hadn't done much real, lasting damage. There was a sizeable scar, but other than that, he had regained the full function of his arm.

Govart, on the other hand, had not made such a recovery. He was on life support in the hospital. No one knew whether he would wake up again, but if he ever did, it would be to face justice for his actions -- actions which would be his final ones as a free man.

The trial had gone far more easily than his uncle's had. Twistedly, Laurent supposed he had Jokaste to thank for that. As soon as she realized that things had not gone according to plan, she flipped on Kastor in order to take a very favorable plea deal. She got to keep custody of her child, keep her freedom, and keep her money, which was not insubstantial. In return, she only had to relinquish her place at the Akielos estate and give the police every scrap of information she had on Kastor and Govart and their plot to frame Damen for Laurent's rape and murder.

Laurent pulled the bag of popcorn out of the microwave and shook it a few times before tipping it into the bowl. On a whim, he made some tea as well, finally going back through the hallway with the bowl in one hand and both mugs of hot tea in the other. It was a precarious situation, and he realized as he stepped out of the hall and into the living room that he'd been so focused on not spilling anything that it had completely distracted him from the dark.

He set the bowl and mugs on the coffee table and turned to see Damen smiling up at him from the couch.

"Come here," Damen said, lifting the blanket he had already pulled over himself so that Laurent could slip under it with him. Laurent bit his lip to hide a smile of his own and then settled in on the couch, his back to Damen's chest.

Damen gathered Laurent's hair over one shoulder and touched a delicate kiss to Laurent's neck. Laurent shivered and leaned back, turning so Damen could kiss him. Damen took his own time doing it, of course. He leaned in until he was less than a breath away and then paused there, his eyes on Laurent's face. "You're so beautiful," he said. "In all that time Auguste was trying to push us together, he never mentioned that."

"Oh? What did he tell you then?" Laurent asked, rather distracted by the proximity of Damen's lips to his.

"He told me about how smart you are, and capable. He told me about your sharp tongue and your sense of humor."

Laurent hummed. "Most people would say I don't have one."

"Most people don't bother trying to get to know you. I think that's why he didn't tell me what you look like. He wanted someone to appreciate you for what you really are. He didn't have to worry though."

"Why is that?"

"Because I didn't stand a chance no matter what you looked like."

"I see," Laurent said. "So my blonde hair and blue eyes are just icing on the cake then."

Damen grinned. "Exactly," he said, and then finally leaned down to kiss Laurent.

The kiss felt the way it always did with Damen: warm and comfortable, but also always a little thrilling, connected to something deep inside Laurent which tugged in a way that was almost-but-not-quite painful, like the scar tissue in his shoulder.

Laurent melted into Damen as he did every time. He could have stayed that way all night, forever even, but after a few minutes Damen pulled away.

"So," he said, "what are we watching tonight?"

Laurent took a moment to breathe himself back to full awareness, as kissing Damen always seemed to distract him. "I was thinking a horror movie," he said.

Damen's brow furrowed. "Really?"

Laurent nodded. "It's Halloween," he said. "Besides, I have you here to protect me."

This had the intended effect. The worry left Damen's face and instead he laughed. "I don't know," he said, adjusting his arms around Laurent to pull him even closer. "I think you can protect yourself just fine without me."

Laurent turned his face away as he smiled, settling more firmly back against Damen's chest, and reached for the remote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this strange little passion project of mine! I really hope you enjoyed it. If you did, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I mean, I'd love to hear your thoughts either way really! And either way, I hope you're all still hanging in there, and if you do anything to (safely) celebrate Halloween, I hope you enjoy the holiday!


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